


jump in the chorus line

by greenmanalishii



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Slow Build, Social Media AU, everyone is a hot mess, implied/reference child abuse, singing and dancing, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers?, wade is his own warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmanalishii/pseuds/greenmanalishii
Summary: Peter is a YouTube star. Wade is a wannabe Broadway singer. When life throws them for a loop, they learn how to get along.
Relationships: Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! major lurker here but this is my first attempt at spideypool (and any chaptered fic bc the idea got away from me a lil haha ._.) so there's a couple things to keep in mind while reading through
> 
> 1) most characterisations in this fic are built from random bits of different canons, so sorry if anything is OOC!!  
> 2) I wanted to keep the tags relatively sparse so I tried to include the most important tags that may/may not turn someone off, BUT each chapter will contain a content warning at the top for more detailed warnings!  
> 3) as this is a SLOOWW BURRRNN, both peter and wade start off involved with people that aren't each other. the first few chapters will include peter/MJ and a little of nate/wade so if that stuff isn't your thing, sorry!  
> 4) I have no beta, so if I've missed any typoes or grammatical errors, please let me know but try n be nice c:
> 
> enjoy!

**Part 1: Welcome to the Jungle**

“Oh my god is that Spiderman?”

Peter whips around and there they are, another group of young kids staring back at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. Well, they’re not kids, _really_ , more like teenagers, dressed for the occasion in an assortment of colourful Avenger’s merchandise that they undoubtedly just bought because the merch stand was only a short distance away from where they’d found Peter. It was quite the unproductive move on Peter’s part, granted, as he had been trying to keep a low profile while depending on nothing but sunglasses and a big hoodie to disguise him. While it was the best Peter could have done at the moment, it clearly didn’t work, seeing as this is the _eighth time_ he’s been stopped in the past thirty minutes.

Still, he’s not mad - Peter is able to summon the patience of a monk when it comes to dealing with people who watch his channel. The group of teens are clearly big fans - they all have pins with his screen name, _@thehumanspider32_ , blocked out in bold letters on top of a colourful red and blue gradient. One kid, small and shy but gaping at Peter as if he’d just caught a glimpse of Christ himself, is wearing one of his hoodies, most likely freshly purchased. He can’t help but smile at them, his arm shooting straight in the air as he waves back, calling them over. It’s almost pointless though because the kids barely even wait for Peter to acknowledge them before they’re tripping over themselves, running to Peter with their phones out.

“Hey guys!” Peter starts,” What’s u -”

“Can I get a picture?”

“I loved the video you did with Natasha where you took that super glue and -”

“Yo, did you see that meme where they photoshopped your head to a dog’s body and -”

“Are you and Iron Man gonna collab soon? I can’t wait to -”

As the teens ramble on, crowding and shoving, Peter’s thoughts wander off for a moment while he absent-mindedly poses for pictures and signs shirts.

He’ll never get over it, really, the idea that there are people out there excited just to see him, all because he posts (in his opinion) silly internet videos that just so happen to get millions of views. Peter had started regularly uploading videos to his channel a few years ago and at first, it simply served as an escape.

His YouTube career started off like many other great adventures in life do - out of desperation.

(Not the bad kind of desperation, per se, just the kind that pushes you to do things because if you don’t, you won’t survive.)

(So maaaybe the bad kind of desperation.)

College was becoming overwhelming and the pressures of not having enough money to afford anything more nutritious than ramen and saltines was getting to him.

He didn’t know what possessed him, exactly, but he’d decided when he’d first signed up for his courses that a minor in photography was the _perfect_ complement to a major in biochemistry. Aunt May hadn’t questioned too much, she'd known that Peter had a creative side as strong as his logical side was, and it would've been hard for him to function if he hadn’t had some sort of balance between the two. It was somewhere between that and watching his favourite YouTuber (a man by the screen name of _CaptainAmericaaa_ ) as a means of escapism.

(He was inspired by CaptainAmericaaa, real name Steve Rogers, for his own screen name. He was thirteen and thought to himself, well, if Steve Rogers loved America so much, he'd name himself after something he loved too. He'd had a pair of pet tarantulas named Cindy and Crawford at the time, and he was obsessed with knowing everything there is to know about spiders. Once he got older and actually started using his account regularly, he was too lazy to change the display name or make a new one, and thus, he was thehumanspider32 for the rest of his online career.

Some people thought the name was dumb but it didn’t _matter_ , because spiders are _amazing_.)

He figured he had a good enough understanding of lighting and framing to get him by, and he wanted to create an escape for himself, so he looked for the beauty in the little things. He’d find interesting places around his little corner of New York and film there, just talking about his life and perspective on the world. Apparently enough people found his stuff intriguing, because once he’d kept consistent, the following came not long after. What he did was simple, but people appreciated the relaxing nature of it, the way they could experience the city life through Peter’s eyes.

It grew after that, though, began to reach more people than just those outside of his (extremely small) friend circle and (even smaller) family. Eventually, he became successful enough that his channel became monetarily viable, something Peter hadn’t even envisioned was physically possible. He didn’t make much off of it, but it was enough to pay for food and maybe help out with some things that the scholarships just couldn’t cover. Peter, of course, couldn’t help but lean into it because as much as Aunt May and Peter himself wanted him to be university educated so he could build a better life for the both of them, it was draining the financial life out of them at the very same time.

What didn’t get directly funnelled into Peter’s growing black hole of college expenses went directly into the channel. Peter started getting more elaborate - he’d carved out his own style, began doing videos with themes more akin to what the 'popular kids' did nowadays - building weird crafts (he’ll never forget the amount of money he’d wasted on buying five pairs of jeans so he could make a chair out of them using nothing but staples) and cooking foods no one should realistically want to eat (the bagel flavoured ice cream stayed in the freezer for days.)

While that kind of stuff was a far cry from the down-to-earth, intimate style of what he’d started out doing, it garnered him an even bigger audience, and the attention of the right people.

The right people being the ones who’d brought him to this convection in the first place. The aforementioned popular kids.

_The Avengers._

They were a YouTube super group essentially, consisting of some of the most popular personalities on the platform. Each member did a range of things, vastly different from the next, beloved in their own regard and with arguably more influence than some Hollywood celebrities.

And yet when they’d seen Peter’s content, a strung-out college student just documenting what it took to get by day to day, they’d called him the missing link. Tony Stark was the first to reach out to him, the one to invite Peter to have his own booth at this year’s Avengers convention, and the only one that Peter’s been in close contact with so far. Peter obviously couldn’t say no to _that_ even if he didn’t have half a clue as to how to set up an _entire fucking booth_ , because Tony (as the founder of the convention and something of a figure head for the group) had promised him that if his booth did well at AvengersCon then he’d have much more opportunities to look forward to.

Like sponsors. Fucking _sponsors_. With _money_. And _free stuff_.

So.

Peter certainly doesn’t mind the attention he’s currently getting from the kids, even if it is a bit obsessive and more zealous than he’s used to. He’s hardly recognized outside of designated spaces for online creators, so he soaks up the attention while he can. He doesn’t like to refer to any of his followers or people who watch him as fans because it just seems a bit pretentious, but at the end of the day, he wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for them so he makes sure to take care of them when he can and give them what they want.

He spends a good few minutes just signing all of the random things the teens shove his way, then stands around talking to them before sending them along, happy and satisfied and still a bit awestruck, with another friendly smile and wave. He then turns back to what he actually came to do, which was visit MJ at the booth. She’d been there for some time, no calls or texts or updates of any kind for Peter and it was about time her shift was up.

She already has her eyes trained on him as he comes close and though she’s trying hard to hide the slight pinch of her features, Peter sees it anyway, can’t help but shrink into himself a bit as he arrives at the table.

Peter puts his hands on his hips. “Working hard or hardly working? Ha ha.”

And _oh_ , it’s so forced, but MJ lets it slide and offers him a placating quirk of the lips, though strained. “Medium shirts in the dark print sold out. Looks like Spiderman’s more popular than we thought.”

Peter flinches a bit, deflating. His hands drop from his hips and instead he’s rubbing the back of his neck. “They were so excited, MJ, I had to stop for them. I can’t just...”

MJ just shakes her head and doesn’t look at Peter, even as she gets up from her seat behind the booth. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I signed up for this, remember? It’s really fine, Peter. I get it - it’s cool. You can help close up shop, yeah? I’m gonna go find Johnny and see if we can get lunch somewhere. You want?”

“Uh… yeah, sure. Lunch,” Peter nods. “What’re you thinki - aaaaaaand you’re gone.”

He feels a cold drop of anxiety in his chest as he watches MJ’s back retreating, the young red-head brusquely walking away after getting out from behind the booth and brushing past him at a breakneck pace. She’s clearly mad, _pissed_ in a way that used to be a rare occurrence, and Peter knows he’s done something terribly wrong. He’s not sure exactly what, though, until he gets an inkling that he should check his watch and _oh, no_.

It’s 6pm.

Peter was supposed to come take over MJ’s shift an hour ago.

That cold drop of anxiety expands into a deep tide pool, and he feels it grow as he takes his seat in the booth, alone with his thoughts.

Peter hadn’t meant to drag MJ into the whole Youtube thing, it just happened over the years.

He’d known Mary Jane Watson before his channel had any sort of traction - back when they were still in high school and he and Harry were still friends and Gwen was alive - and she’d stuck with Peter through all of it. She was bright and outgoing and so many things that Peter wasn’t and still isn’t, and they had clung to each other like limpets after the accident.

She’d gotten involved with Peter’s channel when he was venturing into making his own t-shirts and logo for the very first time. While Peter was creative, yes, he had basically no business skills to speak of, and MJ swooped in to pick up the slack because she could sell snake oil if she wanted to with her charisma and business smarts. She’d since become an essential part of his channel, as much of a presence to his audience as Peter himself, with her own rapidly growing following.

Most of all, though, she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed being able to flex her marketing prowess, liked having control over certain things and liked being involved in something so important to Peter. YouTube wasn’t what MJ wanted to do for a living, though, it was more of a side hustle than anything else. What MJ _really_ wanted was to be an actress, and while she enjoyed her endeavours with Peter’s channel, one of the concerns she’d always bring up to him was that it should never get in the way of them, their relationship, or their own personal goals as individuals. More and more lately, Peter fears (knows) that that’s exactly what is happening. Running the channel had been eating up so much time on both of their ends and Peter could safely say that he hadn’t been a very good boyfriend as a result.

“Yikesssss,” he hears a voice approach, high pitched and sprightly, sucking in a breath through teeth. “Trouble in paradise? Or is that what it looks like for you guys when everything’s going super duper well? I’m not one to judge, healthy relationships look different for everyone, right? ‘Least I think that’s how the saying goes.”

It’s said in a chipper tone, not overly sarcastic but just enough that Peter feels a spark of anger within him. Who’s this rando and what right does he have to talk about his relationship? His face is already set in a snarl and he has a snappy comment ready on his tongue before he even looks up. When he sees who it is, however, he stops short.

The man is wearing a ridiculous get-up - he looks almost like a dollar store version of an eighties hair metal frontman, complete with the red bandana wrapped tight around a totally bald head, a black distressed tee with the sleeves cut off, and just about the tightest pair of dark jeans Peter had ever seen on a man, _ever_. His eyes are obscured by a pair of black Ray Bans and silver chains accentuate the entire get up, making Peter wonder how the hell someone could look so cheap and so expensive at the same time. He tries, _really tries_ , but can’t help when his attention drifts to the man’s skin, sparingly exposed on his bare arms. He’s covered head to toe in scars, a marred and uneven texture on every exposed surface.

“So what’s the deal?” the man says, tossing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction that MJ had made her hasty exit. “Marriage on the rocks? You suggested a lil’ bit o’ polyamory and she wasn’t having it, huh? Or - or, maaaaaybe you left the clothes in the washing machine overnight again and she’s in a huff cause now all your underpants smell weird. Tsk, tsk, tsk - a classic yet simple mistake. I been there, bud.”

Belatedly, Peter realizes that this is Wade Wilson.

If he’s honest, Peter knows about Wade more through the the rumors he hears spread about the him rather than through anything Wade has ever said about himself - he’s kind of an oddball, difficult to work with, an absolute _madman_ at parties, doesn’t know when to shut up, unstable, has the memory of a brick, does weird things for attention, astonishingly annoying, the works.

Among all the rumors, Peter has heard several about how he’d gotten the scars - trapped in a burning car, tried to set a house on fire but it went wrong, didn’t use an ash tray properly, _self-immolation_.

(The works.)

Peter also has a certain suspicion, however, that some of the things he hears about Wade are either overblown, exaggerated, or just bullyish judgements. And maybe it’s his (definitely super small) ego talking, but Peter had always told himself that he was _better than_ making assumptions about someone he didn’t know. He’d resolved that he would reserve judgement for when he actually met the man, and speculating on something that was most likely a painful part of personal history seemed a tad too invasive.

(Which Peter thinks is a bit funny, _him_ of all people setting standards on what is and isn’t invasive when his whole career and well being depends on sharing just a little too much.)

Wade’s got something of his own cult following, and one of the reasons Peter recognizes him is because MJ is a part of said cult following. She’d implored him to go check out Wade’s content, insisted that he was on the rise and was well on his way to becoming an easily recognizable face, but Wade is a singer and song covers had never really been Peter’s thing so he’d never clicked past the thumbnail ( **read:** he looked at the links whenever MJ sent them and just point blank ignored them). But MJ has sent enough of those videos for Peter to at least get a vague idea of what Wade looked like. Besides, the man’s features weren’t easily forgettable, the scars a non-subtle beacon marking Wade’s identity.

But despite running in similar circles in NYC, and at least _vaguely_ knowing each other, Peter had had little to no interaction with Wade one-on-one. He knows Wade follows his stuff - Peter has seen him comment on a video or two, and has even seen some tweets sent his way from the singer - but that was the extent of their interactions.

(It should be noted that by tweets, Peter means thirst tweets. They come every few weeks and MJ finds it endlessly hilarious when Wade goes into poetic detail about how shapely Peter’s bum is. Peter pretends he hates it while MJ makes sure to hack his account and like every single one of Wade’s tweets.)

“And I thought I was s’posed to be the one who’s rendered speechless here. On the topic of stereotypical sayings, ever heard about the one where the picture lasts longer?”

Peter suddenly realizes he’s been silently staring for quite some time and had possibly been staring blankly at Wade's arms for longer than is socially acceptable. The edge to Wade’s voice snaps Peter out of his reverie, and the fear that he’s offended the singer makes Peter forget that _he_ was the one who was supposed to be mad. “Sorry! Sorry. I wasn’t looking at the - your - uh… Sorry.”

“You definitely _were_ , but it’s alright! I’m used to it, what with the whole _looking-like-Garfield’s-regurgitated-lasagne-after-one-of-his-late-night-binges_ aesthetic I got goin’ on,” Wade says, shifting his weight to one leg and placing a hand on his hips. “Friendly reminder, though, that Ripley’s Believe it or Not is, like, right around the corner from here. Anywho, you’re that Human-Spider dude, right?”

“Err, yeah,” Peter says,” But you can just call me -“

“No need to answer! That was a rhetorical question. I’d know that ass anywhere. Can I make a personal request to update that Instagram feed more than once every two weeks? The rivers run dry in the desert and my thirst must be _quenched_.”

“You can’t see my ass from - you know what? Nevermind. You look familiar, too. Aren’t you that guy from that cover video that went viral a few months ago?”

“Ha!” Wade barks out, tossing his head back. “Very specific description, but yes. Tis I, Wade Wilson, that one guy who sang that one song once. Super famous. Household name. Everyone knows me. I get to skip the line in Starbucks and everything.”

Peter huffs a breath of frustration, brows furrowing. He does not enjoy sarcasm when he’s the subject of it. “You’re also the guy who’s apparently taken his thirst-tweeting into real life. Real classy. Listen, I didn’t mean to come off as rude but _you’re_ the one who came to _me_ first and tried to jump to conclusions about my girlfriend and I -”

“Oooooh, so she is your girlfriend! I was just makin' a lucky guess. Well in that case, yikes indeed.”

Peter glares. “There’s not - ugh.”

(Peter knows what his judgement on Wade is, now.

The man is, in fact, astonishingly annoying.)

He can’t hide the bitterness in his voice when he replies. “Did you, like, _need_ something? Cause we’re about to close up shop - unless you wanna wait for my girlfriend to get back here so you can, I dunno, give us a live rendition of couples therapy or whatever -”

“Hm! Not a big improv guy, but I can probably come whip up a little diddy on what it’s like to watch a relationship ~crumble from a distance~ pretty easily - ahem -”

Annnnnnd Peter is back to being angry. He narrows his eyes at Wade, who seems completely unfazed by his growing ire and is yodeling at the top of his lungs.

(Impressively, though, he can annoy Peter in perfect key.)

He’s not sure what Wade is doing here of all places, anyway - he didn’t have a fantastically large online presence and the members of the Avengers were notoriously not too fond of him. Peter assumes that he’s just here as a fan since he seems to be enough involved in the YouTube atmosphere to at least know who Peter is.

So he asks, shoulders deflating. “What do you want, dude?”

Luckily, Wade clears it up for him. He abruptly stops his yodeling and moves, placing his hand on the table in front of Peter and leaning forward a bit. “You’re in luck, baby boy, because I do need some help and not just mentally. See, I’m supposed to be at Theatre B in like twenty minutes and I’m a tad lost. My phone’s dead, but if I didn’t _also_ lose my charger at some point today, I can guarantee you I’d be two seconds away from getting eviscerated by my manager - “ Wade shivers - “ and she is a _scary woman_. Can you point me in the right direction? You’re the only person I kinda-sorta recognize in this fucking place and you look like a nerd so I assume you know your way around a convention or ten.”

Peter tries his best to ignore the underhanded compliment, because he’s more overwhelmed by the surprise that _he_ of all people is the most recognizable man at this event when there’s people like Bruce Banner and Thor just casually walking through the crowd.

Still, something about Wade is just turning him right off. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s here in front of Peter telling him he looks like a nerd while also kind of flirting with him in this strange dichotomy of behaviour, or maybe it’s just the fact that he felt the need to chip in to his and MJ’s little incident earlier. And despite Peter’s normally overly-helpful self, he just doesn’t get the urge to extend the same courtesy to this guy.

(Maybe the Avengers really were right about him all this time, Peter thinks.)

(Wait.)

(Did Wade just call him _baby boy?_ )

“Look pal,” Peter starts, thunking his hands resolutely on the table and shoving himself up, non-aggressive but still stern. “I know you like my stuff -”

“Sure do like all your stuff! O’course I’d have more shit to like if you heeded my advice. Glad you’re taking my feedback on the Instagram usage so humbly though, it’s like you really do care about the little people!”

And if Wade wasn’t wearing sunglasses, Peter’s sure he’d see his eyelids batting.

Peter grinds his teeth. “... Right. I appreciate it, really. I do, but I don’t know where Theatre B is so I can’t help you. Can you please leave me alone? You’ve done nothing but say weird stuff to annoy me since you got here and you’re trying to piss me off and it’s working and I’ve never told a fan to fuck off before but I’m _getting close_ and that’d _not be good_ so can you just -”

But just when Peter’s about to give Wade an earful, he hears MJ’s voice call out.

“Holy shit, look it’s Wade Wilson!”

MJ comes running up with Johnny in toe, leftover food bags in hand and faces lit up much like the kids Peter had met earlier in the afternoon. Peter searches her face for any sign of lingering anger, but not only does she hide her emotions _damn_ well when she’s ready, but her attention is zeroed in on Wade.

She walks over to Wade, extending her free hand. “Hiya, Wade, name’s Mary Jane, MJ for short. Huge fan.”

Wade seems just as surprised at being called out, but he shakes MJ’s hand enthusiastically and Peter sees a genuine smile creep onto his face. “Heyyyy I know your face! Miss Tall Red and Beautiful. I’ve been tuning in to you and Peter’s stuff a lot lately and you’re in his videos sometimes right?”

MJ simply shrugs. “Once in a while, yeah, when he’s in the mood to help a sister out and give her some clout.”

“Ah, hell, you don’t need that shit!” Wade says, tossing his wrist flippantly. “ ‘S far as I’m concerned, looks like you’re the backbone of this entire operation - you’re the highlight of _my_ Friday afternoon, I'll tell ya that right now.”

MJ leans in to stage to whisper at him. “Between the two of us? My SocialBlade’s looking better than his is at the mome.”

(Peter watches them go back and forth a bit, taking turns just dragging him. He doesn’t spend too much energy on being offended though because he’s still trying to process how this man is able to so blatantly flirt with both him and his girlfriend in a matter of five minutes.)

“Can we talk about you for a sec, though, Wade? You stuff is, like, really great,” MJ says. “Been watching you for a while and your voice is really powerful - kind blew my mind when I first heard you.”

“Yeah!” Johnny finally chips in, hovering at MJ’s shoulder. “ I’m Johnny, by the way. MJ introduced me to your channel a few months ago and, dude, how have you not been picked up by a major label or something yet? By the way, cheers to going against the grain and wear sunglasses indoors - not alot of people have the _guts_ and _coolness_ it takes to do that.”

Wade nods enthusiastically. “People’d be surprised at how much easier it is to stare at fluorescent lights for long periods of time with ‘em on.”

“Johnny, too..?” Peter mutters, incredulous, wondering when all his friends and loved ones had hopped on the Wade Wilson trend. Johnny normally doesn’t give two shits about YouTubers of any kind, so hearing him speak so highly of Wade throws Peter for a loop, especially considering the man had done nothing but try to aggravate Peter since he arrived. He mumbles to himself, “Is it gang-up-against-Peter-hour or what?”

Wade seems like he genuinely doesn’t know what to do with the compliments. He’s hanging his head and trying to fight a shy smile. “ But really guys! I appreciate it. I kinda wasn’t expecting anyone here to even know my name, so it’s super surreal to have you guys comin’ up to me and talkin’ about the dumb shit I do.”

“It’s not dumb at all! Tons of people do covers but not a ton of people have a voice like yours, Wade,” Johnny says. “Keep at it and you’ll get somewhere some day, that’s for sure. Hell maybe you and Peter can collab some time."

“Yeah Peter, I didn’t know there were people with _actual talent_ who watched your stuff,”MJ says, and yup, there it is. She’s petty as _hell_ when she’s mad and by the looks of it, it’s going to be a rough car ride home for the two of them. Peter’s eye twitches a bit.

“Aww shucks, you’re making me blush. Normally I gotta pay people to talk that nice t’me. But I’m glad you’re a fan! I will sign any and every body part you wish, included but not limited to toes, foreheads, tibia and philtrums. Shoulderblades if you’re wacky. Just don’t get anything tattooed ‘cause I can’t afford to fund the eventual removal.”

“Guys,” Peter cuts him off. “You know I’d never wanna kill the moment but I think Wade has somewhere he was s’posed to be getting to…”

“Oh that’s right!” Wade chirps. “Thanks for reminding me, humanspider69. I don’t know if you glorious, lovely, humble, _adoring_ fans of mine can help, but do you know where Theatre B is? I’m not in this get-up for nothing. There’s a Guns n Roses cover band slotted to perform there in like, ten minutes and the Guns are missing their Rose.”

“Theatre B? It’s not too far away from here. We could probably walk you there.” MJ offers, and it seems her mind is already made up because she and Johnny are already setting down their food bags. MJ doesn’t spare a second glance in Peter’s direction. “C’mon Johnny, let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Amy Adams!” Wade says, sounding slightly relieved to finally get the help he was asking for. They walk away together, MJ shoving through the crowd with Wade close behind. Johnny moves to follow them but stops short, turning to look back at Peter who’d been frozen still for most of the encounter.

“Hey, Pete, you coming?” Johnny quirks an eyebrow, expression concerned. Peter can tell Johnny is reading his posture, the slump of his shoulders and the aversion of his eyes. He trots closer to Peter. “ Hey man, I think you’d actually enjoy the performance. Wade really is a good singer.” As much as he wants to talk things out with MJ, he knows loud and clear that she doesn’t want anything to do with him right now.

“Think I’m gonna sit this one out, Johnny,” Peter says, and tries his best not to sound too pathetic. “Gotta finish cleaning up anyway - funny enough, booths don’t take themselves down like they put themselves up, yanno?”

Another weak joke. Peter’s really off his game today.

“You guys have fun though. Tell MJ I’ll be up in the room?”

“Sure,” Johnny nods, a lingering sadness in his eyes as he walks away. “See ya, buddy.”

Peter takes a seat once again at the empty booth. He can see crowds flooding in the same direction MJ was leading Wade in, likely gathering to see the show. And if Peter had been in a better mood, he probably would have tagged along as well. But now that the attention is off him, the rush of earlier has died down and people’s focus has shifted, Peter is left with the all consuming feeling of just wanting, _needing_ to be left alone. The thoughts from before Wade had shown up come rushing back to him, consuming Peter's consciousness.

He goes about packing the booth up, trying desperately not to think of Wade Wilson and his incessant flirting, or the fact that MJ is out with him and Johnny and _not_ with Peter. He tries not to think of what they’re doing, how much fun they're having when he heads back up to his hotel room alone, tries not to think of the way Wade had rained compliments down on MJ the second he’d seen her.

 _Miss Tall, Red and Beautiful_ , he’d said. And MJ had seemed so smitten.

Peter simmers quietly as he lays himself down in an empty bed and he reaches down deep for reasons why he’s so angry, why he’s so annoyed with stupid _Wade Wilson_ , a guy he’d never even talked to before today. Why he feels personally snubbed.

(After a while, when the digits on the clock read 3AM and MJ stumbles into the hotel room, trying and failing to not make a noise as she thunks down gracelessly next to him, he realizes it.

Because for all his reaching into the depths of himself, Peter can’t remember the last time he’d given MJ a compliment like that.

They sleep facing away from each other that night.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so just a lil side note on the boxes in this fic, they are voices in Wade's head and can be treated like separate characters that just offer running commentary on his life, but they are a symptoms of his mental illness. also i wrote this with movie domino/neena thurman in mind cause she's ma girl. also sorry for the boringness and literally no interaction between peter and wade but we're getting there :') slowly :')
> 
> White - []  
> Yellow - {}
> 
>  **WARNINGS for this chap:** negative self talk, poor attempts at humor, MJ is mistaken for Karen Gillan.

**Part 2: Go Git It!**

“Wade.”

[Morning sleepyhead.]

{Wakey wakey eggs and bakey~}

[We don’t eat that shit anymore, stupid. It’s on the no-no list remember?]

{What isn’t on the no-no list at this point?}

Wade groans, eyelids resisting his every attempt to pull them apart. His throat feels sore, his back is sweaty, and he’s lacking the ability to remember his own name more so than usual, so there’s no doubt he’s fallen asleep on the couch at two in the afternoon once again. He rolls over, feeling leather peel off his skin where his shirt had ridden up, and he cuddles into the back of the couch, safe and snug from the meanie trying to rouse him at this _ungodly_ hour. It’s not the most pleasant thing, either, having an external voice added to the ones in his head, slicing through the fog of his own sleep-addled mind. But he’s awake now, despite how badly he wishes he wasn’t and White and Yellow are bantering non-stop between themselves, doing nothing to help Wade’s throbbing headache in the least.

“C’mon champ, don’t do this to me,” Domino says. She always has a flat, no-nonsense tone, never inching out of the Slightly Impressed But Also Definitely Unimpressed By Everything territory, but Wade’s known her long enough that he can pick out the (very, very, very) subtle hints of affection when she speaks.

[She’s not fed up with us today just yet. Let's try not to ruin it.]

{The girl is like the steel in a steel-toed-boot. Sturdy, impenetrable and..annnnndd….}

[Made of steel?]

{Precisely!}

“Audition booked for six this afternoon, remember?”

“But. Comfyyy,” Wade whines, cuddling into the back of the couch.

“Nuh-uh. Self sabotage is not allowed this week. Come on, Wade, you’ve been preparing for this for ages.”

“Hm. Not letting me sleep away my issues this time, are you?”

“Nope!” Domino replies. Wade is impossibly impressed that she can hear him with his face mushed into the couch pillows, but then he remembers that Domino has the hearing of a middle aged suburban mother (probably named Karen or Kierstiegh) who’s up late waiting to catch her son (probably named Timmy or Timmeigh) sneaking out of his room at midnight to play X-Box when he’s supposed to be grounded. She can hear even the most concealed, dejected mumbles Wade has to offer, and Wade has an _abundance_ of dejected mumbles to offer.

Still, when Wade doesn’t move, she leans in closer. “Imagine what a waste it would be if all that hard work you put in was for nothing. What would you dad say if you had one?”

[She can guilt trip just like a middle aged suburban mother too.]

And just to annoy him, she starts pushing against his shoulder, bouncing him up and down, stirring up that stale-drunk feeling that had been lingering in his gut.

Wade grunts, reluctantly lifting his head just enough so he can respond. “Excellent question. Your guess is honestly as good as mine. Considering you’ve never met him yet you’ve had more contact with him than I have, I'm willing to bet he won't approve of your - sto - _stop shaking me, I’m getting up_.”

He flops onto his back clumsily once she lets go, blinking against the dizziness that overtakes his vision.

“There’s the spirit!” Domino chirps. “Called the Uber already, he should be here in five. Let me know if you need a hangover-helper.”

“More alcohol would do nicely, yes.”

“All we have is coconut water, ‘m afraid.”

Wade sticks out his tongue in disgust. “Eugh. Drinking an entire gallon of Bill Cosby’s hangnails garnished with staples would be a far more pleasant experience. Matter of fact, just give me straight up nails to guzzle - might as well _Bill Cosby Show-me-the-gates-of-Heaven_ right away.”

“There’s the Wade I know and tolerate. Up and at ‘em tiger!” Domino says, giving Wade’s leg a vigorous farewell shake. Wade groans again, batting her away, but she’s already moved away, busying herself around the apartment and gathering her things. She tends to make herself very at home in Wade’s little studio when she visits, which often involves her flinging her belongings into random corners as soon as she walks through the door and not being able to find them when she needs to leave. Wade has lost count of the irritated calls and text Weasel has sent him after coming home to misplaced tissues, coats, socks, shades, wallets, credit cards, and even pairs of underwear that they’d found lying around after she’d passed through their place like a tornado.

(Wade wonders if it’s ironic that he pays her to organize his life for him. She’s incredible at her job, but sometimes it’s hard to take advice and criticism from someone who apparently doesn’t know what _resting things gently on counters_ or _putting things neatly away in drawers_ means.)

Wade spends a good few moments staring at the ceiling trying to clear away the rest of the fog in his head, running a hand over his face repeatedly. “Doms. Remind me next time to never chase Jaeger shots with Bud Light.”

Domino’s voice sounds from a distant corner when she replies,” We’ve had lengthy conversations about that already. Thought you were gonna try to ease up on the drinking?”

“I did. I eased up. This time I stayed away from the extra bottle of Merlot I knew I had in the pantry, even though I really, _really_ wanted a sip. Aren’t you proud?”

“Super proud,” she answers, unimpressed. Her voice is in a different corner of the apartment, now, muted by the sound of furniture being shifted and things being rifled through without permission.

“Wish I could say the same,” Wade says, “ If you wanna talk about hangover-helpers, there’s nothin’ like a niiiiice glass of wine first thing in the afternoon.”

“Finally, I’ve got confirmation you’re forty with two cats and no husband, just as I've always suspected. Have you seen my shades, by the way? Could’ve sworn I put them down near here…” Domino emerges into the living room once more, fruitless in her search for her own damn property.

“Check in the kitchen, behind the fridge maybe? Think they fell off the counter and slid underneath," Wade sighs, rubbing his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have gone all out last night, but like most nights, he did _anyway_ and woke up to nothing but feelings of regret and emptiness. His head is pounding, his skin feels tacky and he’s in desperate need of some heavy, greasy, downright inappropriate food. His mouth waters at the thought.

“That sounds stupid," Domino scoffs," I think I would’ve _noticed_ if my shades were under the fri - oh hey, there they are.” Domino pops up from where she’d knelt near the fridge, holding her shades triumphantly in one hand. “Now I just gotta find my keys. And you better be off the couch and _Bill Cosby Show-ing_ yourself downstairs before I do.”

“That means I can take my leisurely time, then.” Wade replies, but he heaves himself up into a sitting position regardless. “I don’t know what you’re rushin’ for, anyway. The auditions don’t start ‘til I walk in.”

[Don’t stop.]

{Make it pop.}

Despite the throbbing in his head, Wade finally summons the effort to get off the couch and head to the shower, humming that wicked catchy Kesha song under his breath.

It was almost a compulsion at this point, to stay out until three o’ clock in the morning bouncing from bar to bar, bringing himself down with alcohol then right back up with a fat line of cocaine. While he tries to keep his drug usage on the down-low for the most part (Domino is still unaware of _The Coke Thing_ and would chimp out if she knew), but when Wade parties he goes _fucking in_ , balls-to-the-wall, dancing on counters and screaming Sia’s _Chandelier_ at the top of his lungs.

It’s catharsis.

He let it get a little out of hand last night, but hey, it was Friday! New York, as a collective city, allowed for and even encouraged that behaviour, revelled in the kind of debauchery that sent people to an early grave.

Wade figures that’s partially why he was so drawn to the place as opposed to somewhere like California, what with their green-juice drinking health nuts and image-conscious exterior. New York was darker, grittier in some ways - Wade feels like he fits in better here, flies more under the radar.

{Here, we don’t feel like as much of a fucking freak.}

Granted, he draws this comparison from the heresy that people in the Big Apple tend to spew, as most New Yorkers seem to have both an air of excessive pride in their city as well as a curious rivalry with their southern neighbours. Wade doesn’t quite get it - both cities were miles more interesting than where he’d grown up, and he thinks maybe half the populace in _both_ of these places might stop the silly pissing match and realize how good they have it if they ever had to live through a cold Saskatchewan winter.

The culture shock? Insane.

Moving to New York was a big step for Wade, a risk he didn't think he had the moxie to take despite the many risks he'd taken previously in his life that required _much larger_ amount of moxie. But he'd done it, had worked up the courage after months and months of pussyfooting, and just bought the damn ticket. It could have been the itching of despair underneath his skin once he'd been discharged from the military that pushed him over the edge, the absolute desperation he felt to just do something that he _liked_ rather than just doing something he had to.

Wade Wilson was twenty six and finding himself for the first time, and it was a peculiar feeling.

If he didn’t have Al or Weasel around, if he hadn’t met Nate or Domino, he’d be in a drastically different place than he is now. He never thought he’d be able to step back and say, _Look ma! I got a support system now!_ So much of his life before this had just been about survival, and as much as it had crushed him at first, the discharge had opened up the chance for Wade to learn what it felt like to just _exist_. That said, he hasn't been _fantastic_ at it so far - the chronic drinking-til-shitfaced and sleeping for two hours every week was a testament to the chaos that still lived within him, but there's a part of Wade that yearns for a peaceful life and screams to be heard.

Still this feeling of foreignness, of not belonging, tracks Wade wherever he goes - even here, in a place where weird is embraced and everyone has their own quirks that make them _at least a little crazy_ , Wade feels like an outlier. Trying to feign affability to hide crippling agoraphobia was exhausting on the best of days, and his memory has grown disconcertingly more unstable in the last few weeks - but Wade has had unreliable memory since.

Well.

Since he could remember.

He’s been trying to teach himself different ways to cope and curb the effects of his vaguely swiss-cheese shaped conscience as best he can without letting anyone know the real extent of it. He gives himself credit for hiding it well as even Nate, who was perceptive to an almost freakish degree, hadn't noticed the decline.

(Seriously, Nate was bordering on psychic-knowing levels of intuit. Wade couldn’t even _conceptualize_ anything out of the norm without Nate knowing about it somehow.)

There’s journaling, leaving notes for himself on his phone, adding about fifteen more alarms than the average person may need to remind him of important things. He knows it’s a bad, bad, bad idea to try and keep things from his friends, but he outright _refuses_ to become someone who constantly needs to be coddled. He may have his own baggage, but he’s not incompetent or an invalid, _damnit_ , and he can sort himself own on his own!

(Or at least. He can try to.)

Like anything, it’s a process. Learning to be a functional adult is hard, but Wade _tries_. He’s come a long way, too.

Wade has fought hard to keep on track with the medication, something his psychiatrist didn’t hesitate to praise him for. He’s even been able to book studio gigs with growing regularity, with time to work on his own little projects in between. For once in his life, Wade can look at himself and think maybe - just maybe - he sorta, kinda, _in the smallest most microscopic sense_ , is on his way to a semblance of stability.

There were just a few things holding him back.

[Looking like the crusted leftovers of someone’s microwave dinner really does have it’s disadvantages.]

{Aw, that’s a bit harsh don’t you think? There’s always someone out there who’ll scrape off the crusties and eat ‘em.}

[Do you remember that time we tried out for Elder Price? The casting lady said our aesthetic doesn’t suit the pristine Mormon good-boy-pedo-bait look she was going for. Oh man, if only she knew.]

{Ionno, I kinda took it as her way of telling us politely that we might need to moisturize!}

[Honey, no amount of _Olay Regenerist Micro-Sculpting Cream™_ is gonna help our shit.]

Wade sighs. 

But just like Domino said, Wade had put a lot more effort into preparing for today than he normally does. The normal amount of preparing that Wade engaged in for any audition being _exactly on_ or _very close to_ zero.

So.

When even Domino notices Wade’s been working hard, it’s _serious_.

Today she’d scheduled him an open casting call for an Off-Broadway run of _Little Shop of Horrors_. It’s the closest thing to a big break that Wade’s gotten since he moved. Though Wade wanted to go up for Audrey with all his heart and soul when Domino first brought up the opportunity to him a few weeks ago, she had oh-so amiably crushed his dreams right then and there.

( _“It’s not because of how you look, Wade. You just have too much attitude for Audrey. She’s supposed to be kind of pathetic. You don’t exactly scream domestic abuse victim. More like… domestic abuse perpetrator.”_

_“Yeouch. Little too close to home there, Doms. Shiklah and I only broke up, like, a few months ago. I’m feeling just a scooch victim-blamed right now.”_

_“Oh shit, I - I forgot that happened. Sorry. She’s a bitch, hate her, what a nightmare woman, you should’ve asked for more in the pre-nup. You know I’m kidding. Anyway, have you thought of trying out for the role of the dentist instead?”_ )

Still, Broadway was one of his Big Goals - big enough that Wade didn’t really see it as achievable for himself in this lifetime, for so many reasons. But Domino was a magical woman whose connections had connections, and she’d pulled more outlandish opportunities for him out of thin air before, so he figures he just has to just trust the process. Any chance to get closer to being in a true-blue Broadway show was something Wade had to take advantage of, right? Off-Broadway was just as good as On-Broadway, and much better than Obscurely-Adjacent to Broadway, which was where Wade currently was at.

To say he was nervous for today was a _vast_ understatement. He finds himself wishing Domino had let him fowl up the whole day and sleep in, because the only thing that frightened him more than his own mind was rejection. If he's turned down for this role after practising like _hell_ , he's not sure how well he can pretend to be unaffected this time around. However he presses on, finishing up the shower and schooling himself into trained, feigned, and falsely obtained confidence while he dresses (and astutely reminds himself that Hawaiian shirts and denim short shorts are not suitable for this occasion.) 

Domino is already in the Uber, arms crossed impatiently, by the time Wade’s fully dressed and downstairs. He swings the door open and flops down next to her, feeling humid beyond belief because one minute is _not enough time_ to properly dry off from a shower and his top is clinging to him in _all the wrong ways_.

“Christ, is this thing made of clingwrap?” Wade comments, trying to stretch the collar so he can get some breeze as they move off. “Remind me I need to get some new clothes. I can barely move my arms. ”

“Do less on Arm Day maybe? You’re being dramatic. It fits you fine,” Domino replies, but it gives Wade no comfort because she’s not even looking at him. Her face is down in her phone, thumbs typing furiously. “I’m just thankful you didn’t decide to put on one of those absurd Wine-Mom esque graphic tees that say, like, ‘ _Shut Up Liver, You’re Fine_ ’ or something.”

“Ah, yes, the only other thing I wear besides Hawaiian shirts and denim short shorts,” Wade muses. “But nah, I figured I’d have a better chance at getting a call back if I try to be normal, or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” Domino says, nose still buried in the phone. She’s awfully good at tuning Wade out. It’s one of the things that make her so suited to being Wade’s manager, because he can talk her ear off while she shrewdly ignores almost everything he says.

[Much like our last therapist.]

{She was a nice lady!}

“Oi, you better not be texting Becky with the good hair,” Wade says, trying to peek into her phone and receiving a firm shove to his head. It actually hurts, though, because Domino’s hand is _notably_ hard. Wade rubs his forehead and makes a mental note to buy Domino some _Olay Regenerist Micro-Sculpting Cream™_ for Christmas. “Be honest, am I your most favourite client you’ve ever had?”

“Sure.” Domino says, deadpanned. “You’re swell. Good guy. Lots of talent. Please do not try to infiltrate my correspondence with other, more important clients.”

“Aw come on, I was just tryna make sure that you aren’t givin’ ‘em better jobs than me. If there’s an opening for Freddy Krueger On Ice, I want to be your first choice.” Wade tries to lean over one more time to see who Domino is texting because he’s a nosy little fucker, but is stopped once again by a finger to the middle of his forehead, inching him slowly away.

“You don’t know how to skate, Wade.”

[Because that’s the only thing stopping us from playing Freddie Krueger On Ice, right?]

{Er. Yeah? We’ve got the looks down at least. But I think we should shoot higher. Is there a Blades of Glory remake in the works?}

“Mmm yeah, I don’t know how to skate _yet_ , but I can learn!” Wade replies, folding his hands behind his head with a self-confident flourish. “Can’t be that hard. I’m Canadian, we were practically birthed wearing ice skates. Try not to think of the logistics of that, though. Did you know that Canadian babies aren’t placed in the NICU after they’re born, by the way? Instead they send them to a specially designed, baby-sized ice rink and force them to play fatal amounts of hockey to separate the weak from the strong.”

“Fascinating. Also thank you for providing me with the mental imagery of a woman trying to give natural birth to ice skates.”

“Welcs. So yah, who are you cheating on me with?”

Domino sighs, as if she’s finally resigned herself to the fact that she’s stuck in a car, in NYC traffic, with a man who could earn a degree in irritating people if it were possible. “If you _have_ to know, I’ve been looking into managing some online influencers full time. It’s a really rapidly growing market.”

“Oooh trendy! By online influencers I assume you’re talking about YouTube losers,” Wade replies. “Is that how you ended up getting me the AvengersCon gig despite the fact that ninety percent of them hate me?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Domino says,”Plus, they don’t...like.... _Hate_ you, hate you. They just think you’re aggravating and hard to work with. And they also probably believe everything Shiklah’s been saying about you. A lot of them seem to think you’re high-maintenance, as well.”

“Pffft,” Wade scoffs, bringing his hand up to check his nails. ” Well I guess they’re right about one thing. If I don’t have freshly snipped, finely ground Juliet roses sprinkled in my sparkling water, then I won’t even _bother_ to show up.”

Domino hides a half-smile. “Regardless, everyone at AvengersCon was pretty impressed with your performance. You might annoy them, Wilson, but they can’t deny you got the pipes. While we’re on the subject, though, maybe try and refrain from calling them YouTube nerds? Not only do they make bank but we’re also trying to turn _you_ into one.”

Oh, right. Wade had almost forgotten about that.

While he’s not a huge social media user, Domino had been encouraging him to get into it more because it was a good way to promote himself and “his brand” (whatever the hell that meant.)

Wade’s anti-social by nature, so he can’t decide whether he appreciates the anonymity of the internet or is completely turned off by the fact that it’s almost a requirement for anyone who wants to get successful in any field of entertainment in the twentieth century. He’d tried it out on a whim, though, and come to realize he didn’t mind it. Out of everything, he enjoys sending troll tweets to oddball internet celebrities that take themselves too seriously. Sure, it doesn't get him into their good graces, but Wade finds it hard to care about that.

He’d only agreed to do the YouTube thing when Domino had insisted that all he needed to do was stand there and look pretty while they film him singing. He’s got basically no control over his YouTube account - all the editing and filming is done by professionals, and the only choice Wade really has in the matter is what kind of songs he wants to sing. For a while, he didn’t get why people grew so attached to some content creators in the first place. He didn't see anyone who made their fame from the internet as any different to a normal person.

[Which is insanity, because these people clearly need to have some supernatural powers for crowds of fourteen year old girls to be falling at their feet.]

{I resent the implication that you need supernatural powers to do that. Haven’t we learned from The Beatles that you can get world-famous from not being that special or good?}

The dots connected for him when Wade found Peter Parker’s channel.

Of course it helped that Peter was undeniably attractive, with his big brown eyes and mussed hair that was meticulously styled to look effortless and unkempt. He was every stereotypical E-Boy with only half the cringe. 

But Peter had stood out to Wade. Because he was real.

Peter had been poor, he’d been struggling, and he showed it all for people to see, to make them feel less alone. Peter came across in his videos as someone who has the best intentions, _all the time_ , someone that Wade would’ve been thankful for when he was younger. He still didn’t idolize the boy by any means (he's far past the age for that) and he’d only watched a handful of videos, but Wade did identify him as separate and apart from the other people who’s content he’d tried to tune in to. He and MJ’s dynamic was admirable whenever she was featured in his videos and it gave Wade a semblance of hope after his divorce from Shiklah that healthy relationships really do exist.

Or, at least, some people are better at faking a healthy relationship than others. Meeting Peter and Mary Jane at AvengersCon was an interesting experience.

It was trippy to see, in real time, a bunch of kids fawning over a bunch of adults who made _internet videos_. Wade is still getting used to the whole online culture thing, and had very much felt like an alien in a poorly constructed skin suit when he’d gotten to the convention. Peter and his booth had come as a hidden relief, because even if Peter didn’t know him, Wade at least had an idea of who Peter was and (along with being in dire need of a root to ground himself in this Very Foreign Social Experience) Wade really just wanted to see if he looked to be as much of an E-Boy in person as he did online.

[He did.]

{A real cutie. Think he’ll tell us his skin care routine?}

He liked, too, that Peter and MJ hadn’t pretended to be perfect, that MJ hadn’t tried to hide her attitude (which, he’d learned, she had _a lot_ of) and Peter hadn’t tried to put up a facade of being happy when he wasn’t. Wade knows he wasn’t supposed to be privy to their little tiff, but seeing it hadn’t made him think any differently of them. They were human, just like anyone, and posting their life on the internet didn’t change any of that.

{Could you imagine If that had been us and Shiklah fighting in public like that?}

[Oh, man. There’d be no survivors.]

Peter had been entertainingly easy to provoke, and MJ and Johnny had ended up being excellent company for the rest of the night. Once they’d helped him find Theatre B, they’d stayed for the show, offering up no small amount of praise and congratulations when it was all over. They’d even let Wade tag along with them to the after party, which Peter was suspiciously absent from, and at the end of the night, the two had even exchanged numbers with Wade along with promises of meeting up for drinks some time. Wade had tried his best not to show his elation, but really, it made him feel all warm inside when MJ had seemed so genuinely invested in building a friendship with him.

Wade Wilson is the first to admit he doesn’t have many friends.

He doesn’t keep in much contact with anyone back home except maybe Vanessa, but even then, they’d long grown apart and are busy living their own lives. There’s Al, but Wade hasn’t been able to visit her in ages. Weasel spends most of his time on the other side of the state and he’s not sure what exactly he and Nate even are to each other. Wade has never really had a crew, _per se_ \- he’s never had people to keep him company on wild nights out or cozy nights in, people who spend time with him because they want to and not just because they have to or are stuck with him. The kids he used to roll with back home (and cause mass amounts of public disturbance with) weren’t friends, really, just people who’d come from similar backgrounds and held similar pain in their hearts.

While he’s not one to get attached so quickly, or have much faith in people, Wade had started messaging Johnny and MJ as soon as he got the chance, and they'd been going back and forth ever since. The two of them were pretty dandy, seemed accepting of him and even excited to invite him places and learn more about him. Out of the bunch, Peter had the largest chip on his shoulder when it came to Wade - he’s the only one who treats him with as much apprehension and disdain as Wade has come to expect from the rest of the general population.

(Completely understandable, seeing as the thirst tweets Wade sent his way were only half trolling.)

Peter had been displeased with Wade from the very moment they’d first met, and Wade finds that _multiple times easier_ to deal with than the friendliness that MJ and Johnny had offered. There’s a twisted part of him that feels validated when people he likes or admires denounce him, almost like it’s validating his practically non-existent self esteem.

(He wonders if that’s something he should’ve brought up in therapy when he was last forced to go. He considers it passionately for exactly .2 seconds, then tosses that thought to the side because, eh, low self esteem is _en vogue._ )

He only realized he’d gone silent for an abnormally long amount of time when he hears Domino say something.

“Huh?” He says, intelligently. “Sorry Doms, I was reminiscing and didn’t hear a word of all the really important things you said.”

“AvengersCon was that fun, huh?” Domino asks.

“Yeah kind of,” Wade replies with a childish chuckle “You know Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson? They’re, like, internet famous and stuff and they’re totally my best friends now. Well, MJ is. Peter’s still disgusted by my presence but that’s just cause he thinks I’m into his girlfriend or something. Do you think I’ll ruin it if I tell them I have a crush on both of them?”

“It’s very possible.”

“Right. You’re right. Let me not push my boundaries yet. Ha. Betcha thought that’d never happen in this plane of existence, eh? Me. Wade Wilson. Having friends. _Madness_. I’m gonna tell Nate all about this, he’s gonna be soooo surprised.”

“Wade, I think you’re a lot more likable than you give yourself credit for. Anyway, I was trying to remind you to start doing your vocal warm ups? We’re about twenty minutes away from the place and this is really not the time for slips ups or best-friend having.”

Wade sticks out his bottom lip. “Every time is a good time for best-friend having.”

But he listens to Domino regardless, flowing through his warm up routine with practiced ease and giving little thought as to whether or not his vocal exercises were disturbing the Uber driver. For a moment he’s distracted, totally focused on the monotonous repetitions of red-leather yellow-leather and running through scales mindlessly.

Somewhere between the warm ups and journey to the audition, though, Wade feels the anxiety return. This happens almost every time he has to audition - there’s the average amount of cortisol running through his body up until the exact moment he gets to the place, then once he’s there, it’s like he’s flooded with nerves.

Usually he’s good at either coaching himself out of it or completely faking his composure. This time, though, it’s harder. He suddenly feels the weight of responsibility, of the possibility of _failure_ or _embarrassment_ , and it feels crushing enough to slow his steps as he jumps out of the car and heads towards the building. Domino can’t tell, she surges ahead with the assurance of someone who knows what they want and what they deserve, while Wade hangs back for a moment, palms growing sweaty.

Just then, he gets a dumb idea.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up the groupchat. He’s never done this before, and it feels strange to be texting people he only met a few weeks ago in some kind of desperate bid for comfort, but he feels pulled to, anyway.

**WWilson:** _auditioning for lil shop of horrors off-broadway today! gna prove 2 them that im the best audrey they’ve ever goddamn seen_  
 **WWilson:** _jk i feel like im about to shit myself lolololol_

He gets a reply before he even makes it into the building, pocket buzzing. He doesn’t wait a single moment to open up the messages.

**johnny storm:** _good luck buddy! Lay off the x-lax and Im sure you’re gonna do great as usual!_  
 **Karen Gillan:** _Hi Wade! Good to hear from you. You’re gonna kill it! Xx_  
 **johnny storm:** _let us know how it goes, although im sure you’re gonna blow everyone away_  
 **Karen Gillan:** _facts!! you free saturday btw? Thinking going out and getting drinks together xx maybe we can celebrate the new off-broadway king while we’re at it!!_  
 **Pee Parker:** _good luck wade._

Simple words, but it’s enough to put a smile on Wade’s face for the rest of the day. Having friends feels really, _really_ good.


End file.
